I wonder where,
Where I call home.
I’m uncomfortable with others,
With their ersatz shallow ways,
Except those few sweet few.
I prefer most my own company
Away from the many,
The contradictions, the confusion, the overload of senses.
Its so much easier that way.
No worry.  
Be myself,
Without fear
Of treading on eggshells
Lest I put my foot in it,
once again,
Saying wrong things,
Being judged,
Being criticised.
Just for being.

But I’m lonely too,
That lack of connection,
To others
and myself.
I pretend.
I keep busy.
I have no time to feel.
I pass absently
And joylessly
through a life
Of empty
Disconnection,
Discombobulation,
With a heavy weight upon my back.
Tis sad.
Tis a waste.
Till a fall from sweet grace.
From what we are sent here to do.
Spread love.
Be love.
Love all.
Love you.
Love me.

Missing the risks of angst in your growing states,
Asking for more events, more moments, more
Defining traits,
An access to adulthood with pure innocence attached,
A lip sealed love note passed around to everyone before your beauty,
They all knew,
7AM would be the warmest, yet calmest part of morning,
Still stuck in mourning,
I wish I spoke more
Before they moved too far to hear me.
The music was never about listening,
It only took responsibility dropping
To escape back into the vibe,
Show and tell,
List the moments of your family,
Tell me about your history before 1930,
And how you managed to come to existence,
And what you miss the most.
Arcades at the back of the grocery store,
Summers I couldn’t wait to never end,
Friendships and evolution of speech,
Touch felt genuine, and not out of courtesy.
We earned the lockers, a pasty white future,
And textbooks so old,
Just to repeat history every lunch period,
“Speak from the heart”
No, speak with your love,
You’ll create waves when you skip rocks.
Fleeting,
A timeless moment of happiness,
I have it until I remember why I shouldn’t,
It does declare,
“My everything, if this time feels like it belongs in a capsule,
Bury this melodic lead behind championed trophies and campsites,
Let me know the face of my first crush,
I’ll write mistakes all through my notebook,
The boys won’t let me call it a diary,
The girls say you shouldn’t keep a journal,
Well, we’ll just call it a logbook.
Coffee’s bitter,
Everything looks like the past,
While my presence is just future tense tension,
Who, me?
I’d rather represent silence with error,
I’ll dance to whatever I’d like,
And depression just sounds like a Fray song over muddled rain,
That radio compression makes every cassette sound fragile,
You’ll miss it.
You’ll miss it so bad.”

Boys get louder to express their feelings,
Unmatured matchmakers,
To lunch tables clamoring over last night’s news,
And tomorrow’s homework,
Order and stability,
It’s just one house,
And we’re all chipping at the paint,
Things we let go, caused issues in our fondness,
But we still had festivals, parties, and experiencing our favorite MP3s as a live audience.

I might not ever return,
Let’s take these, our foundational stones,
And not forget why tossing them in the water,
Felt like the time right before the streetlights came on,
And our favorite TV show rewound Season 3, Episode 5.

A closure to answers,
A burden to ask questions,

Not a care in the world but my missing Link Cable,
And a liability to not be late,

My friends will leave if I don’t show up right after school.
We’ve got the newest trading cards,
And one time will be the last time,
But the last time will feel like just another time.